It wasn't as if people didn't think she was odd anyway. In fact, she thought most people, especially those at court, would think this quite fitting and quite comical. She knew she was some sort of a myth, a sad story which nursemaids told the small daughters of Gondorian nobility. That she would be married off to this wild King from the North, cast away from her home in Dol Amroth, would be seen as a relief for her father and her older brother. After all, despite the title of Princess and the wealth to enforce said title Lothiriel had no suitors.
Not that she minded. She had honestly hoped to spend her days by the sea. She had long resigned herself to the knowledge that marriage and love and children weren't for women like herself. Or a woman like her. As far as she knew, and others like to tell it, there was no one else like her. So, when her father had spoken of this, of this betrothal, to her earlier she had been shocked and frightened- two emotions she had very little experience with. What kind of a woman did he, her father and this King, think she was? What kind of man was this King? Was Rohan so far away that he hadn't heard about her? Heard about Prince Imrahil's head touched daughter?
She smirked at the thought, her eyes peeking through her eyelashes at the King of Rohan, the Riddermark as his people called it. He didn't look like much of a king. Not that she would know, Lothiriel had never been in the presence of kings. That is until recently. With the destruction of The Great Evil there seemed to be kings popping up all over the place. King Elessar, the only king she had thus met, didn't look like much of a king either. Or what she expected a king to be. But there was something in his eyes, in the graceful movement of his body, in the way which he seemed aged and wise but in the prime of his life all at once. Yes, King Elessar was definitely regal.
But this king. This horselord who sat by an open fire with his riders and laughed heartily while drinking ale, there was something otherworldly about his presence. Not necessarily regal like her King but commanding enough that he would immediately draw anyone's eyes to him. And then he spotted her. He gestured towards her, a wave of welcome. Well, the gesture was more than likely meant for her brother as he had never met her.
Amrothos was standing behind her, one hand in the crook of her elbow and the other with his palm flat against her back. Every one of her brothers, and her father, guided and guarded her. As if they never knew if she would flee or fight. There was always a certain sadness in their grip. She knew it was because they were reminded of her mother and mournful of what the woman had left behind- a daughter who could never quite live up to her title. A Princess of Dol Amroth indeed.
She looked up over her shoulder at her brother, lifted one eyebrow, and smiled. Instantly his grip tightened and he opened his mouth to warn her against any mischief. He had been against this idea, initially. She was to be formally presented to King Eomer tomorrow but she had managed to convince Amrothos that she would like to go down to the Rohirric camp and see for herself the man her father had pledged her to. She had promised him she would behave. He was a fool to believe her. After all, it wasn't as if people didn't think her odd anyway.
Firmly, she yanked her arm from her older brother's grasp and Lothiriel gathered the skirts of her dress in her small hands before sprinting towards the King sitting with his men at the fire. The laughter and the chatter ceased as they observed her. She suspected that Amrothos was still standing, frozen, gray eyes opened wide, living in complete anxiety of what she would do next.
The King didn't stand. She watched his hazel gaze move from her bare feet along the lines of her body, fix on the creamy freckled expanse of her shoulder which was exposed due to the sleeve of her dress falling down, before settling on her face. She felt a warm flutter reach her chest. Most of those she had met were immediately unsettled by her eyes. Large and round, she had heard her eyes called bewitching. One was blue, as blue as the sea from whence she came. The sea which took her mother. The other was a light gray, so light in fact that upon first glance the left eye looked completely white, save for the dark center of it which was constantly wide giving her the appearance that she was always afraid. Some say the conditions of her eyes was a result of her birth and she knew there had been an initial fear that she would be blind in her left eye. She wasn't but it added more to the morbid tale that had been spun around her. Still, this King didn't look away in shock or repulsion or fear.
She tilted her head in her appraisal of him. He was big. Bigger than most men she had seen. And his blonde hair tumbled past his shoulders. And his face was covered in a beard. He was handsome. She had to give him that. She would never get tired of looking at him that's for sure. So, she shrugged her shoulders, walked past three Riders of Rohan, and sat down directly in front of him. As close as she could get, her back pressed up against his chest, and reached down to take his mug for a drink of his ale. And before she could introduce herself, her brother gathered his senses and stormed towards her.
"Lothi! You promised no mischief," he scolded her, blushing as his eyes darted between his younger sister and his good friend.
"Amrothos," she began, as if she was talking to a small child, "I lied," she said with a bright smile, "Besides, I think this King of the Riddermark would like to meet the woman he is to marry… at least before Aunt Ivriniel makes me put on shoes." And as if to prove her point, Lothiriel lifted her skirts and wiggled her toes at her brother before laughing loudly at his gawking expression. Then looking over her shoulder at the man she would marry, so close she could nearly feel the hair of his whiskers on her face she said, "I am Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Amroth. You are Eomer, King of the Riddermark. My father tells me we are to be married."